Jurassic Park: Chaos Engine
by Linkstar
Summary: Ten years after the events of Jurassic Park, the new owners of InGen want to bring the dinosaurs to the mainland, But Nick Van Owen and Tim Hammond have other ideas: They want to cull the creatures on site B.
1. Chapter One

**JURASSIC****PARK**

**CHAOS ENGINE**

**ONE**

* * *

Nick Van Owen held his backpack close to his chest as he was led through a cool, marble floored corridor. The huge house was almost silent save for his hiking boots falling heavily on the expensive floor. The butler who led him through the mansion looked behind him with a sigh. Nick had tracked mud through the lobby, over priceless rugs, and now over newly polished marble.

Nick followed the man's gaze and looked up sheepishly. "I should have wiped my feet."

The butler nodded and tried for a ghost of a smile, but failed dismally. They reached a set of highly polished oak doors and the butler rapped on the heavy wood politely.

"Enter." Came the command within. The butler placed a gloved hand on the brass doorknob and paused, turning a harsh look on Nick.

"Mister Hammond should not be excited," He said in a clipped British accent. "He is very ill."

"I'll keep that in mind," replied Nick, who couldn't have cared less about the state of Hammond's health one way or the other.

The doors swung open and Nick was led into a huge study with shelves and shelves of books lining every wall. Nick would have assumed that this was the Library if he hadn't been to Hammond's library before. The carpet underneath Nick's soiled feet was a deep crimson colour, as were the heavy drapes either side of a huge bay window directly in front of him. Hammond's desk was underneath the window, but the old man wasn't sitting in his executive's chair. Hammond beamed at Nick from his position on the lover's seat set into the base of the window. He wore his now customary silk robe and his legs were covered with a lamb's wool blanket. In the ten years since his company created Jurassic Park and subsequently went bankrupt, John Hammond looked as if he had aged considerably.

The butler nodded politely at Nick and withdrew from the room as Hammond struggled from his semi-reclined position. "Nick Van Owen. It's good of you to come." Hammond's eyes fell upon the backpack at Nick's breast and smiled. "I almost didn't."

Hammond nodded; he understood why Nick would be reticent to answer a call from him after what he had gone through at Isla Nublar. The very thought of that disaster made the businesses man's heart in his chest beat faster. "I can understand that, really I can." Hammond was now in a sitting position and patted the seat next to him. "We need to talk about what's in that bag."

Nick stayed where he was. After a moment of indecision, Nick sat down and placed the back pack on the desk, out of reach and directly out of both men's line of sight. "There's nothing to talk about, John," Nick said, running a hand through his short cropped hair. "We've both been through enough in the past few years to know that what's in that bag is bad news."

Hammond nodded absently, watching geese play in a pond outside. The old man took off his glasses and began polishing them, a nervous habit Nick recognised with a smile. "I know, Nick," Hammond sighed. "If the company had known I sent you back to the park…If they knew what was in that bag…It would have been enough to save InGen."

"Nothing could have saved InGen," Nick responded a little too forcefully. He believed Hammond deserved to serve penance for his greed, and with the deaths of so many people on his conscience, it seemed at though John Hammond had abandoned his childhood dream of Dinosaurs roaming the earth once again. Nick wasn't a religious man, but he knew that what Hammond had done was a slap in the face to evolution. Rumour had it that Hammond had been more active with his local church than he had in the twenty years he had lived in his huge gated estate.

"Perhaps," Hammond replied with a sad smile. "InGen may be dead. But people everywhere now are writing _my_ living obituary." Hammond held up a recent issue of TIME magazine, his face in sharp focus in front of the blurred but still recognisable image of the InGen logo. Hammond flicked to a page and replaced his glasses, reading. "John Hammond's dreams became a reality through sheer force of will, using his business acumen to create a modern day miracle. Those dreams sadly led to his fall from grace." Hammond tossed away the magazine and sighed.

"Why have you called me here?" Nick asked suddenly. Subtlety was not one of his finer points.

"The UN has decided that they will review the restrictions to access the animals at site B," Hammond said. "If they lift the restrictions, scientific studies would be allowed on the ground, and sanctions would eventually be removed so the animals could be taken from the island."

Nick shook his head. "They won't do it, John. The T-Rex in San Diego…"

"..Is already fading from popular memory, I fear. People are more interested in dinosaurs than ever before, and I think this decision will lead another company to resume research and create more."

"Aren't InGen's dinosaurs copyrighted or something?" Nick asked with a frown. "Didn't I read that somewhere?"

Hammond nodded. "The software we used to re-sequence the dinosaur genetic codes is a proprietary product, and I hold the copyright for that, and the dinosaurs themselves are InGen's property, but since the company collapsed, we have quite a dilemma on our hands."

Nick knew what Hammond meant. Since InGen filed for chapter 11 and tried to recapitalise in the years after Jurassic Park, several interested companies snapped up most of InGen's assets. Rumours on Wall Street were rife that a syndicate of major companies had cornered most of the dying company, and the primary buyers had vested interests in the theme park industry. With the lobbying of the UN, the renewed media interest and amplified public love of everything prehistoric, the world looked set to go into another dino-fever. Television pundits raged about the ethics of doing such a thing; CNN relayed debates between hitherto unknown dinosaur experts (Mostly ageing academics who had long ago accepted their fate) and the religious right, about the ethics of resurrecting the myth of the mighty dinosaur. Nick, one of the few people who had seen the creatures up close, was of the opinion that they should have stayed dead. But then anyone who had been chased by a raptor would say that.

The simple fact of the matter is, almost a dozen companies had legal claim to the products of InGen's research, but the legality of exploiting said product was flimsy at best. If they banded together, their combined legal might would topple Hammond's already soft defence.

Nick knew his journey to the site of the original park was ill-advised before he accepted Hammond's offer. No one came back from that place with pleasant memories; in fact it was the source of most of the litigation InGen and Hammond had endured through much of the mid nineties. Somehow both Hammond and his former company had ducked criminal negligence claims until the incident in San Diego, when a maternally enraged T-Rex set about finding its young by tearing apart anything that got in its way. Hammond by then was not in control of InGen, which saved him from going completely bankrupt.

Nick felt no remorse cashing the hefty check Hammond drew for him as incentive to take him seriously, and embarked on a mission that he had promised himself he would not take.

When the chartered helicopter reached the small island that would have once been home to a wondrous amusement park, but in the years since its demise had snared the attention of the world, Nick looked down and tried not to think about what he and a handful of seriously misguided humans had endured on an island not dissimilar to this, and separated by a necklace-thin chain of islands. He had packed his camera despite the assurances of Hammond that the island would now be bereft of predators (Time Magazine was willing to pay big bucks for pictures of the dinosaurs; as it was his images from his sojourn to site B had been very profitable) and promised himself that he was only going to the park because it served a greater purpose. He shuddered to think how cynical he had become, a fact that more than one of his ex-girlfriends had remarked as they slammed doors in his face.

And the apprehension, fear and everything else fell away as he glimpsed the island rising up out of the mist and sea. He'd read Ian Malcolm's book about his experiences in the park, and he remembered the passage that described Malcolm's first glimpse of the island:

_With mounting excitement, Drs Sattler and Grant leaned forward and could barely contain their gasps as the island reared into view. It was like a great alive thing, a lush green oasis in the middle of the hostile Costa Rican sea. Hammond was like a delighted child showing off a new toy, and it seemed as if his joy alone was keeping us aloft as we swooped in for a closer look. _

_The island was breathtaking. Hammond, as he often liked to say, had spared no expense. This time, I believed him. _

"You need to gain some perspective, Nick," Hammond said slowly, his eyes sliding over to the backpack on the desk. "The contents of that bag may be enough to stave off the wolves at the door. If we went public with them, we could buy some time to mount some kind of legal defence…"

Nick was already shaking his head. "I didn't go back to the park to get these things for you to kick start your dreams," He said. "That's not why you approached me."

Hammond frowned, as if he had just remembered his promises to Nick. "I know what I said," Hammond responded coolly. The old man turned away and looked out the window again. "The temptation is still there, isn't it? To build up something again, make one last stab at being remembered. People die for that, people kill for it." He let out a long sigh and leaned heavily on his cane. "It's a hard thing to give up."

Nick understood what Hammond meant. The gleam in the old man's eyes was no just a twinkle, that spark that had ushered through the most significant event in modern history was dearly clinging onto Hammond's sagging frame. Nick suddenly wanted to be anywhere but in this room, with this man.

Hammond seemed to sense Nick's discomfort, and looked up with a half smile. "Would you like to take a walk in the grounds?" He asked gamely. "I haven't been able to for a while, and they are beautiful."

Nick thought about saying no, but could not rightfully leave Hammond so alone. He stood up and helped Hammond from his seat, his hand on the old man's elbow as they went out into the hall. Hammond began walking, and Nick looked back at the open office door, raced back inside and snatched up the backpack.

They walked on lush green grass that was manicured and fresh smelling, Hammond taking Nick on the tour he once gave foreign dignitaries. The grounds were expansive and dotted with trees. Peacocks roamed the grass freely, as did geese and ducks. The area was landscaped to look impressive, a testament to the owner's propensity to think big. A landscape gardener would have lost sleep trying to work out how to realise Hammond's vision. He imagined the many scientists scrambling to realize his vision for the future: In ten short years, they had undone what millions of years of evolution had ensured would be absolute. Nothing seemed impossible when you were in the presence of John Hammond.

"I managed to hold onto the house and some other assets when InGen went under," Hammond said as they strolled. "When the lawsuits started it seemed like they would never end." He smiled and tried to laugh, but it died quickly.

"What do you hope to achieve here, John?" Nick asked softly as they settled onto a bench under a huge oak tree. "I went to that island, and I found the embryos that Nedry stole. I did what you asked. But I can't hand them over to them knowing you'll just try to keep going with this shit, with trying to make a larger impression on the world than you deserve." The words were heartfelt, cruel and not strictly untrue. The old man recoiled at Nick's words a little, then leaned forward, brow knit, heavily on his cane.

"You're not the first person to say such a thing to me," Hammond said lightly. "In fact if I had a dollar for every time someone told me I was a useless old git, I'd be the richest man in the world."

The both laughed softly at that, the truth of their words as refreshing as the bright blue sky on their skin and the breeze on their cheeks. For a moment it was as if the events of the past twenty years had not occurred; that Jurassic Park was a fiction, and a T-Rex had not been bought to the mainland, killing people with the ferocity of a movie monster. Both men had endured much since those days, both bearing similar scars.

Nick wished he could start over, wipe the last few years clean with a big eraser. His pictures from his time on Site B were much celebrated and re-printed, garnering him the respect of his peers and the accolades that went with it. Now approaching forty, Nick's reputation as a photo journalist had been elevated to legend. He had not taken a single frame since his ordeal, and no intention to do so in the foreseeable future. His current position as editor of a youth oriented magazine allowed him a comfortable living, and his video footage from site B had been sold to many news services the world over. Royalties were still coming in; his were the only known photographs of dinosaurs on the planet. Now he'd reached these heady heights, his social conscience had kicked in. He'd once believed in saving the environment, as lofty a goal as that might have been, and somewhere along the line he's resigned himself to the simple fact that it couldn't be saved. John Hammond's phone call had jolted him out of that.

"We cannot allow these people-whoever they are-to make the same mistakes," Hammond said, his voice small away from the confines of his office.

Nick nodded lamely. Hammond would not be persuaded from any other view, and the dismay on Nick's face was evident. Hammond laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. The enormity of Nick's decision had weighed heavily on him since his arrival at Hammond's mansion, and it was made all the more so by the fact that he would have to shatter his hopes. "You're right about one thing, John," Nick said quietly. "We can't allow them to take the animals off the island."

Hammond's face creased into a smile. "I'm glad we're on the same page, lad."

Nick shifted uncomfortably and looked around him. If he had capitalised on the dinosaurs-and in all honesty the amount of money he made from his images was pissing money for the likes of Hammond-he could have all this. If he had caved in when a major network wanted to make a documentary with his images and offered him a six figure sum-he could have continually done so and had what John Hammond, former head of InGen, now had. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. "John, These embryos are going into a safe facility until I work out what to do with them." He held the bag up for emphasis, as if either of them had forgotten its presence. "And I think we need to get some manpower together, go back to the islands, and make sure those mistakes you keep mentioning don't happen again."

Hammond's smile faded and the look in his eyes darkened. "No, absolutely not…"

Nick shook his head vigorously. "It's the only way." He stood up and slung the backpack over his shoulder. "We have to kill the dinosaurs that are left. And if you won't help me, I know someone who will."

Hammond made a feeble grab for the backpack, but Nick sidestepped him and kept on walking. "Think about it John," Nick called over his shoulder. "You'd have the chance to do something right for a change."

John Hammond tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him in the hours after Nick's visit. His hand shook each time he lifted his pen from paper, and he frowned down at it as if it were the source of his new headache and not a boy he had once trusted to preserve the animals on site B. He put down his pen resolutely and pushed the paperwork to one side. He knew who Nick would go to, now. There were few people left on this earth who knew the intimate details of Jurassic Park, and it was to one of them that Nick would turn. Hammond's shaking became more intense as he ran through the short list of names, a list of people who now refused to see him, take his calls. They all had reason to be like that, but good god, is that how he was going to be remembered, by the length of his enemies list?

He rose from his imposing leather chair and walked over to the elegant antique bar on the other side of his office and poured himself a few inches of whiskey into a tumbler. He retreated to a plush velvet couch directly behind the bar and swirled the liquid in front of his eyes. Fears he would not give a name to rose in his chest with his first sip of whiskey. He desperately needed the embryos; the lawyers had told him that much, and Nick had dutifully went back to the park and uncovered Nedry's trail of lies, and eventually he found the embryos buried next to an abandoned jeep not far from the dock.

Hammond had already assumed that Nedry had used his expertise to disable the park long enough to make off with the priceless items out of cold storage, and he also assumed that Nedry did not survive his trek from the control room to the docks. The events of that fateful 48 hours had unfolded at breakneck speed at the end, and had ended with the deaths of too many people. Hammond fought down the inevitable revulsion when the thought of Dennis Nedry floated in his mind; the man had done what he did for money, and even though what he did was deplorable, Hammond could almost understand the man's desperation.

Hammond sighed and sipped more whiskey. His doctor had told him to lay off the booze, but since he knew he didn't have much time left anyway, he ignored the advice. He was weary of the world anyway, had done and seen everything that was on offer to men like him, and now he waited for the inevitable. If it wasn't for the animals he created, the ones the world now wanted to claim, he would have let go long before now. They were his legacy, his gift to the world, and it was little pricks with no vision like Dennis Nedry and the misguided do-gooders like Nick Van Owen who would see to it that his legacy is destroyed. His well publicised advocacy of containing the dinosaurs was received with a kind of shocked incredulity from the general public. InGen was no longer his company then, but he was responsible for the creation of the animals, and not for the maternally enraged T-Rex that tore its way through San Diego. People were more inclined to listen to the man, and he had harnessed that trust into something usable. He needed to cash in on that goodwill now to head off yet another attempt to corrupt his vision.

With renewed energy Hammond stood up and crossed the floor. He found his address book under a week old newspaper and flicked through it, his finger running down a list of impressive and influential names, until he found the name he was looking for. He dialled the number and listened to the ringing tone, a slow smile finding its way back onto his face.


	2. Chapter Two

**TWO**

* * *

Nick rode the subway back into the city-a stark contrast to his chauffeured limo drive to Hammond's place from the airport. He held the knapsack tightly to his belly as the train sped through the tunnels, even though there was no one really who would take it from him.

When Hammond had originally contacted Nick about going on another mission, his first thought was to hang up and turn his back on Hammond and all that he promised. Looking around at his tastefully appointed office crammed with mementos and photographs of notables posing awkwardly beside him, Nick had decided to take the call, if only to tell Hammond that he was a different person now. He was grown up. The days of his wide eyed pursuit of high adventure with Green Peace were well in the past. He heard the old man's voice and straightened in his chair as they settled into uncomfortable (wary?) salutations.

"It's been too long, Nick." Hammond said after a short time, his voice hard edged and all business now. "We should get together soon, you know."

"Yeah, catch up on old times, raise a glass to those we left behind, right John?" Nick knew it was a cheap shot, but he couldn't restrain himself. The words just tumbled out. "Why don't you tell me why you called, get this over with."

"Very well. This is about Jurassic Park."

Nick's chair creaked loudly as he sat up straight. He knew that Hammond would call him for no other reason, but still, uttering the name was like striking him across the face, even after so many years. "What about it."

"You know the companies who have acquired most of InGen have showed much interest in the work we did at Jurassic Park, and they have started proceedings to extract information from our records. So far they have just been exploring their options, but lately I have been concerned that they might revive the Park."

This was not news to Nick. The internet had been abuzz with the news for weeks. He remembered thinking that it would never happen, remembered seeing raptors leaping onto prey, feeling a T-Rex lumbering after him, a struggling baby in his arms. They could not hope to bring that kind of horror to the general public. Nick leaned into the phone now. "I think that would be a very bad idea."

Hammond chuckled. "You're not the only one who thinks that, lad. But so far I haven't been able to garner one single bit of support from the scientific community. Most of them simply won't return my calls. People need to rally around this thing, keep the dinosaurs off the mainland. Preserve the creatures." Hammond's voice had become strident, hard. He'd had a lot of time to think about it. In fact, Nick thought, it sounded like Hammond was reading from a script.

"So what do you need from me, John?"

Hammond's silence stretched into an uncomfortable few seconds while he gathered his thoughts. "I…I..Nick, I need you to go to the site of the park and retrieve something for me."

Nick's response was shocked silence at first, a hollow feeling in his gut that he refused to acknowledge as excitement. "And what would that be?" He didn't say no, not right away. Of course, when Hammond expressed outrage about the new companies wanting to bring the dinosaurs to the mainland, he did not say he wanted to protect not only the animals but his sole right to make money off them. The conglomerates who now held InGen's assets were at a disadvantage because all research material was destroyed after the debacle at the park, and all former employees were bound by strict lifetime confidentiality agreements, all held by Hammond's phalanx of lawyers who would destroy the first hint of dissent under a shiny leather shoe.

Hammond had set out the scenario as if he was making a pitch to his stockholders, and Nick hated to admit that he was intrigued. The tale of Nedry's deception and a rival company's relentless pursuit of InGen's secrets were as engrossing as any he'd heard lately, and in Nick's line of work, he'd seen and heard it all. After Hammond finished speaking, Nick leaned back in his chair and tapped the end of a pencil on his chin, his imagination spinning wildly this way and that; the truth was he wanted desperately to jump back into his activism, boots and all. As Hammond told him the importance of having the embryos back on the mainland, Nick's activist's heart knew exactly what he would do once they were in his possession, he just needed the guts to go through with it.

All his indiscretions could be forgiven with this one act: His former friends from Green Peace would appreciate it. Most had lost contact with him once he accepted the post at the magazine, which came with a hefty pay packet, corporate credit card and a new car. He told himself that he was just taking a break from activism; that taking the job wasn't selling out. Sure, he wore uncomfortable and expensive suits, now had opinion about stocks and shares and had acquired a taste for a decent South Australian chardonnay, but he was also helping to shape the minds of the new batch of activists. That had to mean something.

When he hung up the phone, Hammond's spiel once again hooking him in, he looked down at the cover for the new issue of _Teen Beat_ magazine which had been sent up from the graphics department and was now waiting his approval. He had already scribbled his critiques over the smiling faces of the cast of Friends, and suggested they change one story title to _"How to tell is he's cheating on you: Take our quiz!"_

Shaking his head, he stood up and grabbed his coat. He needed to get out of the office, get his head together.

From its opening night, Ahead Bar was a popular watering hole for politicians, journalists and the social elite. Its sleek chrome and neon look gave the space a sort of industrial feel, making a lie of its inviting sandstone façade. The bar's popularity had reached such heights that it was not unusual to see a line of well dressed young men and women waiting outside the doors in all weather; its management could well afford to be selective on who was allowed entrance.

Almost a year after it opened, Ahead's owner and proprietor Timothy Hammond announced that a new venue would open. His Ahead Corporation had acquired some derelict whare houses that would eventually become one of the largest and most expensive nightclubs ever. The press was abuzz at the news that the failed tycoon John Hammond's grandson was now making a name for himself in the business world. Column inches were devoted to drawing tenuous comparisons between the two men, but other than the surname (taken from his mother when his parents divorced) Tim Hammond was a completely different business man than his grandfather.

Tim's rise was well documented; his university career was peppered with media stories about the collapse of his grandfather's company. Many of his fellow students would look sideways at him, wondering at his audaciousness. How dare he show his face at his grandfather's alma mater! How dare he try to walk in John Hammond's shadow! It was almost commonly assumed that the grandson would repeat the mistakes of both his uncle and grandfather, and therefore he was a walking disaster waiting to happen. Many of his lecturers were aggressive and called upon him consistently during his time at Harvard; when he was allocated a study group, he had to endure the quips of his cynical and pampered mates.

When he moved out into the big wide world, and joined a small promotions company as a junior, all eyes were on his progress. The management were waiting for him to slip up, just once, so their fears could be affirmed; his heritage was tainted.

Within a few years he rose through the ranks of the company, reaching the board of directors by the age of 26, and through a startling power play that stunned the board as well as stockholders, he ousted the incumbent CEO of Ahead Communications, becoming one of the youngest CEOs in the world at the age of 29. His business acumen and precise, methodical nature, as well as his willingness to assume calculated risks, had assured the company's success. Ahead Communications began to branch out from event management early in his first year as CEO, and by the years end, Ahead were much sought after for advertising as well as corporate events, and eventually as a venue, a destination. The same media types who watched him and commented mercilessly on his lineage were now singing his praises.

Tim knew that he owed his good business sense to his grandfather, and he knew that his grandfather's mistakes would forever act as a crystal ball for him. If he gave into excess, if he aimed too high, all would be lost. He was willing to gamble a lot to realise his dreams, but he was simply not willing to embrace the same thinking that led to John Hammond's slow and painful fall from grace.

But the spectre of Jurassic Park stayed with him for many years after his ordeal there. His dreams were full of huge monsters with teeth that were meant to destroy, to crush. He remembered the sound of Raptors as they spoke to each other, trying to search him out. He remembered the wonder of it all even as he was experiencing that all consuming terror. _I'm being chased by a dinosaur!_

He chose not to speak about Jurassic Park, and responded rudely to any journalist who asked for the story. It was simply something in his past that he would need time to overcome, but he could never forget.

When Tim heard of his grandfather's renewed interest in "saving" the dinosaurs, he tracked Nick down, and even though they hadn't met, the two men had quickly developed a trust that was both intuitive; they both new what the future held if dinosaurs roamed the earth with humans again because they had both seen a sneak preview of that reality. As they spoke on the phone the plan to stop John Hammond became solid, seemed like it could work. Now Nick had the embryos, they were ready to begin the next phase of their operation.

Tim stared at himself in a full-length mirror. He wore a dark blue double breasted suit with a light blue shirt and grey tie-his fashion sense was much commented on in the gossip rags-and smiled. His mousy brown hair had been cut and styled in a ragged mop of spikes and dyed a few shades lighter. He needed to look like he belonged in charge, because after what he was going to say to the board of directors, he might not be in charge for much longer.

He felt the cue cards in his breast pocket and sighed at his reflection. He needed to pull this off. He needed them to see things the way he saw it.

The door behind him swung open and nick burst into his office, placing the backpack on Tim's desk before struggling to do up his tie. Tim shook his head and smiled. It looked like Nick had gotten changed into his business attire in the back of a cab.

"Sorry I'm late, but traffic was a bitch…" Nick mumbled, still fighting against his unwilling tie.

Tim crossed the floor and placed a hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick was shaking, he realised. Nick stopped trying to win the battle with his tie and Tim began to straighten Nick's collar and started to work the knot. "The board arrived not long ago. They're having lunch right now and then we make the presentation." The knot finished, Tim stood back and nodded.

Nick scowled down at the tie as if it had betrayed him, and shrugged. "I don't know why I even have to be here!" He said. "You're the one who they'll want to do the talking."

"Safety in numbers, Nick." Tim said as he picked up the backpack. He looked up at Nick and shook his head. "A dishonest man would have sold these off to the highest bidder. I'm glad you bought them here to me."

Nick looked at his feet. "The way I see it, I have a lot to atone for."


	3. Chapter Three

_Author's Note__: An error has been bought to my attention through the reviews, regarding Tim's surname. While I now know that Tim's name is Murphey, I have decided to leave his surname as __Hammond__ for continuity reasons, and also so I don't have to re – upload every chapter. I hope this does not cause much of an impact to anyone's enjoyment of the story. _

**THREE

* * *

**

Tim wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he stood at the head of the conference table stacked with some of the finest business minds in New York City. He sipped at his ice water and cleared his throat, his eyes roaming around the room. "I'd like to thank you all for coming," he began. "And I apologise for the late notice, but I wouldn't have called you all here if it weren't important." He drew a breath and smiled. "My friend and associate Nick Van Owen has just returned from an expedition to an island off the coast of Costa Rica. The same island where my grandfather was to have built his theme park with living dinosaurs as the main attraction. You have all heard the rumours, the gossip and the innuendo about this place, and for most of my life I have been running from the legacy it gave me."

Some board members exchanged puzzled glances and whispered into each others' ears, but Tim knew he had their attention. "Nick was sent to the island to recover some items that it would seem my grandfather needs to reconstruct his dreams. Those items have not been returned to my grandfather and they are now sitting in a secure location. At this point we are the only others who know of their existence. Now that might change within the next few weeks, and this is why I-we-bring this proposal to you now…"

Nick leaned forward and listened intently. How was Tim going to pull this off? He sounded like he was setting them up for the investment pitch of a lifetime, and really what he was asking for were funds to eradicate every last dinosaur from the planet. Nick looked from each stern face at the table and tried to gauge the feeling in the room, and he was hit with looks of insatiable greed from every board member. Tim had certainly picked the right pitch then; he was telling them that this was an opportunity to make stacks of money, and they needed to spend big to make the big bucks. It was not so much a sleight of hand than an out-and-out lie. What they were going to attempt would surely not play well in this room full of suits.

"We need to lobby hard to get the UN and the Costa Rican government to put a team on Site B, so we can sort out exactly what we have there. I know that you all have strong connections with diplomats, politicians, delegates and even royalty. By the end of the month we should have secured at least enough time on the island to put a small expedition on the ground, bring back data, and then decide where to go from there." He stood still and gestured emphatically with his hands. "We are talking about dinosaurs, people. I would rather it be me who decides what happens now to the remnants of Jurassic Park. My grandfather is dying, and time is short. We need to move quickly and spare no expense to ensure that we do the right thing."

Tim stood back and drank down the rest of his water. The boardroom was silent for a few seconds as each board member weighed up his address. Tim needed at least a fifty five percent majority to make this happen, and everyone in the room had their poker faces on.

Kevin Waite, the auburn haired man sitting at the opposite end of the table, stood and led the group in polite applause. Waite watched Tim unsmilingly as the rest of the board stood. "Thankyou, Timothy," He said briskly. "We will put this to a vote. Will you stay and cast yours?"

It was a challenge and Tim knew it. Waite was not a supporter of Tim's vision for the company, and they had clashed on several occasions. Waite was from a powerful family in the Midwest and he was not the favoured son, so he was given the seat on the board of Ahead Communications. He was ten years older than Tim and liked to point that out to as many people as possible. Whenever there was a debate over a major decision, board members would take either Tim's side or Waite's. The offer to withdraw honourably while the board voted was a sound one; Tim's vote was worth five times what any other executive's was, and he regularly passed on voting as a courtesy to the board; he only used his vote when he desperately wanted things to go his way.

Tim nodded. "Yes, of course. Thankyou."

Waite motioned for Nick and Tim to leave, and as the door closed behind them, Tim leaned against the door heavily. "It's going to be close," He said in a whisper. "I can guarantee at least three votes will go our way, people who have always trusted me, but the rest I couldn't say…"

Nick nodded. "Tough crowd," he replied. "Especially that preppie asshole who told us to leave."

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. "I tried to pitch more to him. The greediest man I have ever met. I took a huge risk raising the ghosts of my Grandfather's blunders in front of those people. They are already waiting for me to fall."

Nick nodded. He knew what that feeling was like. "You're taking a huge risk."

Tim shook his head irritably. "It's worth it. I know in my heart that what I'm doing is right."

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the board members opened the door and asked them back in. The two men looked at each other with growing unease and walked into the boardroom like men going to the electric chair.

Tim felt for sure that Waite had gained supremacy in the meeting that had just taken place. As they sat down and each man gratefully accepted a glass of water, Waite cleared his throat and smiled enigmatically at Tim. "Well, Mister Hammond, you certainly shocked us with your proposal," he began slowly. "I must confess that I admire your guts for pitching such a risky enterprise here today."

Tim inclined his head and braced himself for the inevitable shot-down-inflames feeling. "I realise that what we are proposing is risky," Tim conceded. "But I believe in this project."

Waite nodded and opened a folder in front of him, though he did not need to consult it to tell Tim the outcome of the vote. "Well, it was a close vote," he said. "There was a lot to consider. The mistakes of the past were raised quite justly by you, and we do not intend to let those mistakes happen again." Waite glared at Tom for a few interminable moments, and smiled. "But we have decided to allow this expedition go forward."

Nick slumped back into his chair and absently mopped his brow with a handkerchief and Tim simply nodded and smiled. Nick took a gulp of water and wondered how Tim could endure this sort of thing every single day. "What happens now?" He whispered to Tim.

Tim smiled. "Now," he replied, "Now we get our team together and start putting the wrong things right."

* * *

The museum felt like home again after so long on the road. The cool, musty smell of the building made Sarah Harding wish she had never left the safety of this place, had just let others do the dirty work. After twenty years of digging up bones in Montana, she had decided to accept the offer from the University of Montana to continue her research, but in a more "supervisory" capacity. She rarely attended dig sites anymore; word on campus was that Harding had suffered a complete mental breakdown after the events on Site B. Her up close experiences with Dinosaurs had made her a kind of urban legend; she authored a book about the behaviours she witnessed, in particular the maternal instincts of Tyrannosaurs, which became a surprise bestseller around the world.

She rarely spoke publicly of her experiences at Site B, except when a student hypothesized over a fossil and she would correct them, going into great detail about the movements or the noises the animals made. Each time, her students would scribble madly in their notebooks, recording each word as if was a gospel.

In truth, Dr. Sarah Harding was simply tired. She had been one of the few people on earth to see the creatures up close and in their natural environment. Harding did not have the passion to continue digging up these sad remnants of a past that had been revisited on the earth. She saw no point in continuing her research, and she certainly had no desire to write a book of her adventures, as some of the survivors – particularly Ian Malcolm – had. This birthday she would be forty five, and she was ready to retire, leave the science of Palaeontology to rot like the animals it studied. Because soon, the science of studying these animals would become close to veterinary science, and there were students of hers already who were scrambling to be on the vanguard of that emerging discipline.

She sighed as she watched a school group following a guide around the dinosaur exhibit. The kids looked to be in their early teens but the held the wonder of kids half their age as they looked at the massive skeletons in scary poses. Here, see the T-Rex as it is about to rip the throat from the Brachiosaur! Here, see the Triceratops as it hunkers down to charge at the Spinosaur! It was all there, recreated in still life, and it enthralled them.

Harding shook her head and continued on through the corridors until she reached the sanctity of his office. Her secretary was on leave and she had not asked for a replacement, so it came as a complete surprise when she saw a young man with spiky brown hair sitting in a chair with a book in his lap.

Harding closed the door a little forcefully and forced the young man to look up. He smiled at Harding and stood. The book in his hand was one of Alan Grant's first works. "Dr. Harding," Tim extended his hand and Harding regarded it, and then shook it.

"I'm afraid I don't recall…" Said Harding absently as she found her seat behind her desk. "Did I teach you at one point?" The boy did look familiar, now she had a chance to study his face.

Tim ducked his head and smiled. "No, but I am a huge fan of your work."

Harding smiled knowingly and shook her head. "Thankyou, but as you can see I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I am really rather tired…so if you will excuse me…"

"I didn't come here to get a book signed, Dr. Harding." Tim interrupted. Harding looked up sharply and Tim smiled his most charming smile. "I would like to talk with you about your experience on Site B."

Harding let out a long breath and raked her fingers through her hair. Since the San Diego incident, reporters had bribed their way through her colleagues to get a meeting with her. She had grown used to this sort of situation, so much so that it no longer irritated her. "Look, as I told The New York Times, the Washington Post and Oprah Winfrey, I am not interested in selling my story. My book is out there. It's there for everyone. Please consult that if you have any questions regarding my findings on site B."

Tim held up his hands, palms out, in mock surrender. "You misunderstand me. I want to talk with you about your experience because I had a similar one at my grandfather's park. My name is Tim Hammond."

Harding's green eyes sought Tim's and locked on them. She cocked her head to the side, trying to superimpose the face of the small child she had seen once in a photograph on Hammond's desk over the face of the handsome young man standing in front of her now. He certainly had Hammond's eyes…"I care even less about comparing notes, Mr. Hammond."

"Please call me Tim."

"Well, Tim, I am sorry but I will have to ask you to leave…" Sarah rose and began guiding the young man out of her office, trying to keep her face as pleasantly neutral as possible; like a mother embarrassed that her child had soiled himself in public.

"But I don't want to swap stories, Dr. Harding! I want your help."

"You have until we reach the end of this corridor to convince me not to call security, Mr. Hammond, so I suggest you use the time wisely."

"My grandfather is trying to resurrect his dream, Dr. Harding…I think he's trying to bring the dinosaurs to the mainland again…"

"Then he will buy another palaeontologist to 'consult' the project," Sarah snapped. She tried to suppress the feeling of injured pride that she had not been asked first, despite the fact that she would have turned him down. "I'm sure any number of my colleagues would jump at the chance."

They were nearing the end of the corridor. Tim swung around and started walking backwards, watching Harding's face. "But I am not here on his behalf! I need your help because I want to stop them!" He took a breath. "I need someone to help me kill the dinosaurs on site B!"

Harding took only a moment to consider her response. The prospect of ending the madness that had robbed her of her passion and almost robbed her of her life was too attractive to immediately turn down. She felt a tumult of conflicting emotions rise in her chest and she took a breath to rid herself of the tightness there. "What do you need from me?" She asked.

Tim smiled. "Most of what I learned about dinosaurs I learned from you and Alan Grant," he replied. "Well, from your books anyway." He held up the book he was reading and Harding let a slow smile reach her lips. "I know how they move, I know how they hunt. But I don't know how to kill them."

"You need someone on the ground who is experienced," Harding said slowly. "A big game hunter, something of that sort."

"You know as well as I do that no hunter – no matter how experienced – can predict how these creatures behave."

Harding raised an eyebrow. "If you are suggesting that I go on this mission of yours, then the answer is no."

Tim held up a placating hand. "What I need from you is a dossier of the habits of the creatures. Full profiles of how they move, how they will defend themselves, what it will take to kill them."


	4. Chapter Four

**FOUR

* * *

**

"I was surprised to receive your call," Dieter Bauer said in his syrupy German accent. He reclined in his high – backed leather chair and laced his fingers over his belly. At forty five, he was still a handsome man; his dark blonde hair was still full but peaked high above his brow, giving prominence to his thick eyebrows and flat, broad nose. His mouth was full and gave him a more compassionate look that belied his reputation as a ruthless businessman. Bauer took a breath. "Given the recent...How shall I say? Unpleasantness… I would have thought you would be the last person who would meet with me."

Hammond tried a smile but somehow couldn't manage and had to make do with a twisted smirk. Bauer was the man who led the charge on InGen's assets when the company finally went under, but it was rumoured that he owned a much larger chunk of InGen than he had declared – it would take an army of lawyers and accountants to work out exactly which if his subsidiary companies did the rest of the scavenging. It was a textbook move that Hammond himself had used many times in the past when he was building InGen.

"I was glad you could find the time to meet me," Hammond replied. "I come on a matter of grave importance."

Bauer raised an eyebrow. "This is the matter that was so grave you could not tell me over the phone?"

"Yes," Hammond's apologetic tone was fading and his confidence returning. "I thought it prudent to speak with you in person as this matter is very delicate and I cannot afford to let this information get out." Hammond had been aware that certain law enforcement agencies had bugged his phone lines at some point between his founding of Jurassic Park and the debacle at San Diego. Bauer gave a gesture that he understood such things. "I have recently discovered that certain rivals of mine have concocted a plan to eradicate the dinosaurs on Site B."

Bauer said nothing for a long time. He slowly sat forward in his chair and fixed Hammond with a look that could penetrate lead. "And what would this have to do with me?"

Hammond sighed impatiently, letting his distaste for this situation seep through. "You would not have gone to the trouble of gobbling up a large chunk of InGen if the creatures on Site B were of no importance to you. The Costa Ricans and the UN will lift the restrictions on human interaction on the island very soon, but believe me; the animals will be dead long before any scientists will be on the ground."

"The dinosaurs technically do not belong to any one entity anymore," Bauer said. He was speaking slowly. He picked up his fountain pen and twirled it end to end between his fingertips. "You and I both know that my company does not have legal claim to the animals."

Hammond shook his head and retrieved his cane from its resting place beside the chair. His eyes blazed with anger as he stood with some difficulty but with his pride intact. "You and I both know you have already manoeuvred your legal teams into place to fight for the right to exploit those creatures when the UN lifts its restrictions. That is the prize that you have chased since the days when Jurassic Park was just a rumour! Why else would you have employed Dennis Nedry to steal the secrets your so – called scientists could not unlock themselves?"

Hammond's outburst made Bauer stand too. "You have no proof of that, Mr. Hammond."

"I don't need proof!" Hammond shouted back. "Nedry's actions caused the deaths of many innocent people at the park and that is something I have had to live with for over ten years," Hammond's voice softened, but only because he tirade had knocked the air out of his lungs. His voice still carried its heat. "Your machinations were at least partly responsible for what happened at Isla Sorna."

"You really believe that?" Bauer's face was unreadable, his voice a monotone.

"I know it and however much you hide behind your plausible deniability, you know it too." Hammond smiled sadly and shook his head. "I told Nedry that I don't blame people for their mistakes, but I do ask that they pay for them."

A thin smile played on the younger man's lips, giving him a wolfish look. He wagged a finger at Hammond. "You'd like the world to believe you are a frail old tycoon who has learned much wisdom from his mistakes," he said slowly. "But the ruthless businessman's heart still beats in your chest. You are no born again conservationist! You want to stop them killing the dinosaurs because you are afraid it will rob you of your legacy to the world."

It took Hammond a long time to consider his response. The German had hit it right on the head. He had spent the years after the San Diego disaster telling the media how much of a changed man he truly was, that he had learned the error of his ways, but there was something deeper and much more human at the heart of his assertions: he didn't want anyone to forget he was the one who achieved the miracle of bringing the beasts to life. It was necessary to shape his legend while he was still alive to do it.

Bauer's vision of the future was entirely at odds with Hammond's; Bauer wanted to display the creatures, make unimaginable sums of money from them, and Hammond wanted to see the creatures live and breathe, undisturbed by the human world. Bauer was the only man he knew that would go to extraordinary lengths to preserve the creatures, and Hammond would have the time to rally public opinion to protect the animals. Hammond was no longer in a position to expect things to bend to his will: A compromise would do.

Bauer was still unconvinced. He studied his fingernails and made a gesture of disinterest. "Your confidence is misplaced, though, Mr. Hammond," He said with some measure of pride. "To think that your visit here might offer me something that I could not already obtain freely. The Chinese are already in the process of developing cloning systems that are quantum leaps ahead of what your scientists achieved at Jurassic Park. The resurrection of dinosaurs is the new space race; more money is being poured into it now than the Human Genome Project."

Hammond knew that he would have to dangle a very large carrot in front if Bauer to get what he wanted. He pretended to consider Bauer's words, then leaned forward. "But I can offer you something that you could not obtain freely, Mr. Bauer: the only thing that you and your vultures were not able to find when InGen went under."

Bauer's show of lazy disinterest evaporated and he stared at Hammond. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said in a tone of voice that assured Hammond he knew exactly what he meant.

Hammond collected his cane and leaned upon it, still staring back at Bauer. "I do believe I need a drink," he said with a smile.

Bauer heaved a sigh and stood up before crossing his office to the polished mahogany bar behind Hammond. The old man stood and joined Bauer, perching himself on one of the chrome and velvet stools that lined the front of the bar. "Whiskey on the rocks, thankyou."

Bauer retrieved two crystal glasses from the rack below the bar, and began unscrewing a bottle of fine aged whiskey that Hammond recognised as his brand of choice. Bauer was obviously anxious to hear what Hammond had to say, but he was careful not to show it. He poured a few inches of whiskey into each glass and then dropped some ice into Hammond's, preferring his own without. He handed the glass to Hammond and Hammond saluted him before sipping the beautifully aged whiskey. "You know of course that the dinosaurs that were produced on Jurassic Park and Site B were relatively small in number," he said over the rim of his glass.

"You collected many more DNA samples than that." Bauer gulped his whiskey down and grabbed for the bottle. His nerves were humming with anticipation.

Hammond nodded. "We were planning to expand the number of dinosaurs once the park was opened, start off with the more impressive and recognisable ones, then phase in the lesser known species, and also some new species that were discovered by our scientists."

"That information was lost when the hurricanes swept through the island and destroyed most of the buildings shortly after you shut the park down. I've been through the inventories, I know the stories."

Hammond wagged a finger at Bauer. "But did you know that I still posses the data that my scientists compiled? The genetic blueprints for each and every creature on that island, and at least fifty other species, plus the genetic material of several thousand varieties of plants and trees that have been extinct since the cretaceous period."

Bauer had poured himself another drink while Hammond spoke. He tried to keep the excitement he felt out of his expression but he was failing dismally. He hid his smirk by downing his whiskey. "We have heard rumours that such data still exists," Bauer said slowly, his composure returning. "Mostly from the people you once employed who now work for me."

Hammond finished his drink and slid his glass forward for Bauer to replenish. He paused before bringing the glass to his lips, grinning. "I would be willing to hand this information over to you, Mr. Bauer. This would put your people light years ahead of the Chinese, I daresay."

Bauer licked his lips. He leaned against the bar and swore in German under his breath. "You would give me this data? What would you want in return, Mr. Hammond?"

The smile never left Hammond's well worn features. "Simply your cooperation, Mr. Bauer. Once you assist me, I will hand over the data free of charge." The two men fell into silence. Bauer's eyes flickered and shimmered, his mind racing through the possibilities such an offer would bring. Hammond on the other hand finished his second drink, his heart hammering in his chest. He took a long, shuddering breath and hated himself as he spoke the words. "But there is a catch: The data is in the wrong hands at the moment. It is still intact and secure insofar as I am aware, but you would need to retrieve it from someone, a man who has stolen it from me."

Bauer knew that such an offer would come with strings attached so he was not surprised by this. "Who has the data, Mr. Hammond?"

Hammond's hesitation was slight, but it was enough time for him to know he was damning a man he once counted among his allies. "Nick Van Owen."


	5. Chapter Five

**FIVE

* * *

**

Julio Vincente checked his watch and looked right and left, heaving a sigh. Nick van Owen and his associate, a young businessman who Vincente had never met, were supposed to meet him at exactly 1 PM. It was 1.10pm and now he was getting pissed off. What was it with people that couldn't keep appointments? Especially people who wanted to engage his services. They above all should know that time means money.

He waved down a waitress and ordered a glass of water, watching the road that sliced in front of the outdoor cafe' where he was seated. There was an open courtyard to the right, a waist high wall separating the diners from the human traffic that the open space seemed to generate, and a directly behind him was the squat building that passed as a coffee house for indoor latte sipping. He had chosen his seat in the middle of the outdoor area so as to watch everything.

His glass of water arrived and he fought the desire to check his watch again. He smiled up at the pretty young waitress and she tittered and smiled a broad, toothy smile. Vincente was handsome at 35, with a crooked charm about him that drove the ladies wild. He had dark brown eyes that appeared quite black, a broad nose that had been broken more than once and a full mouth that seemed to be designed for someone else. His black hair was close cropped and peaked high on his forehead. Though he spent much time in the sun, his face showed little evidence of it, save the telltale spiderweb of lines radiating from the corners of each eye and at the corners of his mouth.

As he considered asking for the young ladies' phone number when he paid the check, Nick Van Owen sat down opposite him, accompanied by a younger man in a suit, who Vincente had assumed was the famous Tim Hammond. "You're late," he said as he watched the waitress swish back into the coffee house.

"Yeah, traffic was terrible," Nick said by way of apology as he reached across the table for a menu.

Vincente turned to look at Nick. They had known each other for a long time, and he had never heard such utter crap come out of Nick's mouth. There were rumors that Nick had sold out after his adventure in Costa Rica, but Vincente had not believed them. The Nick Van Owen he knew ten years ago would never have become the person he saw before him, wearing a suit and tie and looking too comfortable inside them, another harrowed city dweller who thought the worst thing that could happen was consecutive red lights on the way to a brunch date. Nick had aged terribly, stress etching lines across his forehead and causing the bags under his eyes. Vincente felt a stab of pity and decided against berating him further. He just grunted and flicked his gaze to Tim Hammond. "And you must be Hammond the Younger."

Tim flinched and smiled gamely as he extended his hand. "Mr Vincente, it's good of you to meet us. I'm sorry we kept you waiting."

Vincente accepted Tim's outstretched palm and shook it. "So I hear you and Nicky here are mounting some kind of hunting expedition." he said, his eyes roaming the crowds that slowed behind Hammond and Van Owen.

Tim nodded. "It's probably one of the more unusual assignments you'll be offered."

"I doubt that," Vincente said with a humorless laugh. "A businessman in Indianapolis wants me to go over to Africa and trap lions, tigers and every other man eating predator you care to name and bring them over to his ranch in Texas, where he wants them set loose so he can shoot them."

Nick leaned forward, fixing Vincente with a hard look. "I know you think we're wasting your time here, Julio, but I can guarantee that you will want to hear what we have to say."

Vincente grumbled and blew out a breath through his bared teeth. He sipped his water and looked at Tim. "He does have a flair for the dramatic, doesn't he?" he said with a smirk.

Tim smiled and nodded his head, his smile broadening at Nick's deepening scowl. "Do you remember the incident in San Diego involving a Tyrannosaurus Rex?" He asked Vincente.

Vincente nodded slowly. "I saw the whole thing on CNN. I was in Johannesburg at the time. Watched it in my hotel room."

"A lot of people died that night because my grandfather made a mistake," Tim said, locking eyes with Vincente. "His mistake was not killing the creatures after what happened at his failed amusement park. I was in awe of those things as a kid. I loved learning about how they may have lived and how they became extinct. But what I saw on that island and what I saw happen in San Diego, I do not want repeated. These great creatures served their time on our planet and they died out. Nature, God, whatever decided that they should be wiped out. However you want to put it, dinosaurs were never meant to co exist with man. And right now, we have an island teeming with them and a company eager to exploit them again. We cannot allow this company to repeat the mistakes of the past."

"If we don't do this, our entire ecosystem could change," Nick said. "We don't know what the ramifications are. These animals don't deserve to be sideshow attractions for a gawking public, and they don't deserve to be playthings for some billionaire who thinks they will make a nice addition to his private collection."

"So you want me to help you kill them, that's what you are saying to me."

Van Owen nodded. "I couldn't think of anyone else who might come close to understanding what we are trying to achieve here."

Vincente stared at something in the distance, his face unreadable. He took a deep breath and smiled at Nick. "I've been all over the world helping rich men kill animals for sport." his eyes slid to Tim, and the pair stared at each other for a few interminable moments. His distaste for men of Tim's ilk was apparent. "I've done some things I'm not proud of in the name of the almighty dollar, but I've never been asked to kill an already extinct species in the name of a balanced ecosystem."

"So you will do it?"

Vincente held up a hand. "I want a night to sleep on it."

"We are on a very tight schedule here mister Vincente..."

"I want a night to think about it," Vincente said more forcefully. "And if you want my services then you will wait."

"He's not going to do it," Tim said as they entered the hotel lobby. "He thinks we will exploit him in some evil scheme."

Nick shrugged. "If the situation were reversed, would you trust someone spinning a story like that?"

Tim had to admit that he probably would have laughed and walked off. He couldn't begrudge Vincente's hesitation despite the fact that the man had clearly taken a dislike to him. "So if he agrees, we have one expert on board. Sarah Harding is emailing me a dossier on the animals, and we need to get ourselves a field technician."

"Got that covered," Nick said as they entered the elevator.

"Another one of your ex – Greenpeace commandos?"

Nick smiled. "You could say that." Tim looked sideways at him. He didn't like the edge to Nick's voice. Nick sighed and impatiently stabbed at the button for their floor. "She's my ex- fiance."

Nick had called Kate Delaney after his initial meeting with Hammond, seeking to enlist her help as a field technician. They had met in college and she introduced him to the power of protest and sabotage as a member of Greenpeace. She was committed and focused at first, but became disillusioned with the group. She was dismayed that Nick had aligned himself with some of the more extreme elements of the cause, people who were willing to cause damage, even kill, for the sake of the environment. She had set Nick on the path that had given him purpose, and left him adrift when she saw that her path diverged from his.

She was hostile when he called, angry that he had tracked her down and angrier still that he wanted to bring up the demons of their past. She was a different person now, she told him. She wanted no part in whatever he was planning. It was only when he convinced her that he had separated from the group, that he was living a more conventional life, whatever that was, that she let him speak.

He laid it all on the line: his friendship with Tim, his mission for John Hammond, and Tim's plan for the future. She could have ended the call at any point during his story, but she stayed on the line until he was finished. He heard her sigh and the line hummed with her thoughts. "You are going to need some hard-core weaponry, some tough all terrain vehicles and a lot of money to cover it all," she said.

"Draw up some plans and be ready with them in four days." he replied.

"Four days!"

"It's all the time we have. So we're not looking to build things from the ground up, just modify whatever you already have available. I know you can work fast, I've seen you do this."

Kate was silent for so long that Nick thought she had hung up. "Your friend Timmy better have deep pockets," she said darkly, and gave him directions to her garage before hanging up in his ear.


	6. Chapter Six

**SIX****

* * *

**

"You look like hell," Kate said by way of greeting when she saw Nick. She was bent over a decimated engine, her hands and face smeared with oil. She had pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and looked younger than she was. Nick felt a pang of jealousy that the years had been kinder to his ex fiancée. Her startling green eyes met his for an instant and he could tell the look of pity that flashed there. Kate whipped a dirty towel from her back pocket and began wiping her hands.

"Thanks." Nick replied. He shoved his hands in his pockets and motioned to Tim, who stood behind him. "I'd like to introduce you to someone..."

Kate's smile broadened as she stepped forward and offered Tim her hand. "Kate Delaney. I've read about you in the papers."

Tim shook her hand and looked around the warehouse. Outside it was old and rusty, sitting squat in the middle of a decrepit ship building yard, but inside it was a bustling and modern workshop. Men and women ran this way and that, shouts went up from every angle and sparks flew from angle grinders from above. "I'm so glad you have decided to help," Tim said as they followed Kate through the workshop.

"I didn't know what to make of your offer at first," Kate said over her shoulder as she started up a flight of iron stairs that led to her office on the second floor. "I mean, the specs that Nick sent me make it look like you are entering a war zone, not some deserted island in the middle of nowhere." She unlocked her office and gestured for them to enter and take a seat. She sighed as she sat behind her desk. "But then they were asking me for this kinda shit when I was in Greenpeace and all we were supposed to be doing was protecting the planet." She allowed a self deprecating smile and leaned back in her cracked leather chair.

"We're trying to do the same thing," Nick said.

Kate's smile faded as she regarded Nick. "Just like old times then."

"Yeah. something like that."

She turned her attention back to Tim. "You've certainly got some big-time backers to be mounting an expedition like this. The moment I faxed my projected budget through, I got someone from your company calling to say it was already approved."

"We're eager to get this thing started as soon as possible," Nick conceded.

"I'll say. I've never heard someone so desperate to throw money at me. But they didn't like answering any of my questions. I was hoping you could help me clear a few things up."

"We need to keep this operation as quiet as possible, you understand," Tim said.

"Corporate piracy and theft of intellectual property. I get it." Kate snapped. "You're keeping this under wraps not because what you are doing is very possibly illegal, or immoral but because you fear that another company will hone in on your dealings, steal whatever your idea is. I get it. But I get suspicious with this kinda money being thrown at me with no answers coming my way, so either tell me what the hell is going on here or I can gladly give your check back."

Nick and Tim exchanged a look, both men asking themselves if they could afford to let another person in on the plan. Every person who knew what they were doing was another potential leak. Tim sighed and looked at Nick. "Do you want to tell the story this time?"

* * *

Bauer was as good as his word. After their meeting, Bauer had made funds available to assemble a team to hit the ground running on Isla Nublar, while the senators in Bauer's pockets began the hard lobbying to open the island up to scientific study. A UN special committee was due to hand down their decision in a matter of days, and the word was that the decision would be in favor of limited access to both islands for research purposes. The big question was which country would be allowed to put their scientists on the ground first?

Hammond was determined to have his team enter the islands first and hand back their findings to ensure the long term survival of the creatures. He wanted there to be no doubt that the animals deserved to co exist with man. Bauer was making sure that his company would profit from the inevitable flood of interest in all things prehistoric, and Hammond's reputation would be restored.

That is, if everything went smoothly. Nick's defiance had been the first worrying development, but his own grandson was involved, that much was certain.

Hammond had not spoken to his grandson since his eighteenth birthday. They had spoken about Tim's career aspirations and Hammond was dismayed at what he heard. Tim wanted to make a name for himself and he wanted the life that went with it, that much was clear. Tim's zeal was no doubt fueled by his father's constant prodding and poking at the boy, always pushing him to be someone he wasn't. Hammond had disagreed with the way his ex son in law had raised Lex and Tim, and his vocal opposition to it was still a sticking point between the two men and it had also affected Hammond's relationship with his own daughter.

A headache was curling its clawed fingers inside his brain and he rummaged in his desk drawer for some Advil. He was rewarded with half a bottle and popped three pills in his mouth with one hand and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips with the other. He sat back in his chair and listened to the sounds of his huge home. Somewhere in this rabbit warren of rooms and corridors, people were going about the work of making his life more comfortable: his bed was being readied, his dinner was being cooked by a top European chef, his clothes were being pressed. He tried to remember his upbringing in England, tried to recall the hardships his parents endured for their large Catholic family. To his dismay he couldn't. As a boy he would lie awake in the bed he shared with two of his brothers, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the family home creaking and sighing as if it were trying to forget the torments of a long day. Now, he was never alone and there was never silence.

Swiping his glasses from the bridge of his nose, Hammond reached for the remote control to the huge plasma television that dominated one wall of his office. They had had to remove a whole wall of bookshelves to fit it in, and it was a monumental task to have the thing sit flush with the wall, as if it were a window or a painting. He wondered absently if he had instructed them to do it just so, and realized that maybe he had.

The too – bright, too – clean images on the screen distracted him enough from his chaotic thoughts and his headache began to recede to just a throbbing of his temples. with the Advil and whiskey working their magic he settled in and watched a sitcom with the sound off.

Twenty minutes later he was dozing, his whiskey still in hand, balancing on his belly, and he was snoring lightly.

He dreamed of a place that existed now only in his fantasies; the place that saw the pinnacle of his career and the biggest loss of his life. He saw the completed Jurassic Park. Bigger than it had been originally envisioned, but then things always are in dreams. There were rides and attractions and there were people milling everywhere. It had a sort of carnival atmosphere.

He walked through the crowds, listened to the children laughing and to the thrum of activity as guides took contingents of tourists from all lands to the waiting cars that would whisk them through an adventure that they would forever remember.

In his dream, there was a petting zoo where children could come into close contact with some of the smaller herbivores. There were daily shows with trained dinosaurs interacting comically with their trainers. People were being entertained as they learned.

Of course he had dreamed of this world before; in fact so much so that it had taken on new details, and each time he revisited it, it became larger, more real, and when he woke he always felt cheated.

* * *

Roland Tembo listened to the cicadas singing in the gum trees and sipped his beer. He sat on a folding chair on the porch of his squat old farmhouse, smack in the middle of a huge fenced in area equal parts cracked red earth and lush green paddocks. It was his home, a place to live out what was left of his retirement years. Out of all the places he had visited in the world, he could think of none better to return to than Queensland, Australia. He loved its temperamental climate, its lush tropics and harsh, barren stretches of land, loved the savage and beautiful creatures that survived off it.

Here he was able to be anonymous, to keep his own company. He never much cared for the company of others, much less the people who paid him to hunt for game what seemed like a lifetime ago. He had made his money off it, a fortune by anyone's standards, and he had used it to purchase the huge property in Queensland, a farm he called Avalon.

The sun was setting now, turning the sky a fiery red as it sank. The cicadas were still singing their hymns and Roland was almost at the point where sleep was claiming him when he heard the shrill sound of his phone ringing.

It was a rare enough sound that Roland's calm soon evaporated. He scrambled out of his chair and into the house, snatching up the cordless phone sitting on a kitchen bench.

"Roland Tembo."

Static rolled in Roland's ear and he held the phone away for a few moments. Then the static cleared and a familiar voice greeted him. "Roland! How are you?"

Roland leaned against the kitchen bench and drank from his can of beer. "How did you get this number?"

"I have my ways and means, you know that."

"You sound like you're calling from the bottom of a mine shaft."

"Bad line, Must be the satellites or solar flares or something. Roland, I was wondering if I could pick you brains for a few moments."

A smile reached Roland's lips. "Why, Julio Vincente, I never thought I would see the day when you came to me for help."

Vincente laughed. "This is serious. I've been approached for a job and I thought I might--"

"I left that life behind me long ago."

"Yeah I know, retiring on top and all that. But you have to listen to me. This job is unique, and I think it would interest you..."

"Alright Julio. Its your money you're pissing down the sink with this phone call, so talk."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Seven

* * *

**

Sarah Harding took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her blouse as she had done at least twenty times in the previous hour. She tried to rationalize her apprehension. She was used to speaking to bored students and faculty, she was no stranger to large crowds, particularly after her flirtation with fame following the San Diego incident. There seemed to be something different about this time, however. Perhaps, she told herself, it was because her words were going to affect world history.

She convinced herself that what she was doing was not only right, but her duty. Tim's pleas for her help had stuck something deep within her. She had jumped at the chance John Hammond had given her, as so many people would have, but she only came to regret it when she had inadvertently placed her loved ones at risk. It was fine when it was her ass on the line all those times with the big cats and the man eating predators, but quite another when it was the lives of innocent civilians she placed in harms way.

She cleared her throat and poured herself a glass of water from a carafe sitting on a low table next to her. Tim opened the door to the conference room and smiled gamely. "Are you ready for the class to begin, Dr. Harding?"

Sarah nodded and tried for the ghost of a smile, but it died on her lips. "Send them in. Lets get this over with."

Tim opened the door wider and in spilled a group of about twenty people. Tim and Nick she recognised, but the rest of them were new faces. They wore name badges, Sarah noted. She sighed inwardly and gathered some papers together as the small group found their seats.

When there was a sense that everyone was done fidgeting, Sarah Began. "My name is Sarah Harding. You might know my name from some of the studies I have released on the hunting habits of large predators in the African Savannah, but its more likely you know my face from the 11 o'clock news after a maternally enraged Tyrannosaurus Rex tore apart San Diego. Young mister Hammond convinced me to come talk to you, as you are going to come into contact with the animals on Isla Nublar, and I have been able to study them up close.

"What you all first need to understand is that these creatures will not be easy to kill. Its not like a buffalo cull, where you shoot them from helicopters as they run. You will be on the ground for the most part, seeking them out in their habitat, and if you make a mistake, you will be killed."

Sarah paused for effect. She let her eyes roam over the group, noticed a few people nodding like they understood. She wondered how they would cope when faced with the very real prospect of a bus – sized dinosaur chasing them as they blindly flailed and offered themselves up to sharp teeth and powerful jaws. "I would like to pint out that while I did have a chance to observe the hunting patterns of most of the animals on Site B, I have it on good authority that InGen bred more species that were not on show on either island. I can only offer educated guesses about the habits of these creatures. Now if you will all turn your reading material to page 33, we will start our in depth study of the smaller predators..."

Kate endured Harding's lecture out of respect, but she really wasn't interested in what the paleontologist had to say; Kate had no intention of coming into close contact with those claws and teeth and the bad equation they made in her mind. She wanted to tell Nick that she had no intention of actually setting foot on the island, but she knew that if the mission was to go off with as few mistakes as possible, she would need to coordinate the delivery of her equipment and ensure that the team knew how to use them. After that, she had every intention of waiting as close to sure as she could get.

Harding was an interesting woman, she decided. Equal parts vulnerability and steel backbone. She had stared these creatures in the eye and she had been one of too few survivors from the failed Site B expedition. Rumor had it that Harding suffered a complete mental breakdown after her ordeal. Kate sipped her lukewarm coffee and watched as Nick and Tim sat in deep conversation with Sarah Harding. Nick looked more switched on than he had in years. Despite everything that had happened between them, Kate still felt that familiar twinge when she saw him with that spark in his eye. When they were together, she felt like she could follow him the ends of the earth for whatever cause he believed in. She smiled despite herself, thinking of the times when they were both young enough to be brave and stupid enough to believe they could ever make a difference.

The fight had left Nick after what happened at Site B. Like many Earth First types, he simply shrugged his shoulders at the world and said "You win". Kate had done the same, let other idealists take up the charge. She reconciled her own failure to change the world a number of ways: That the problems were just too big and the number of people to fix them too small, and that she alone could not change an entire generation's way of thinking. Nick for his part had held on for slightly longer, his zeal reaching a fever pitch that sometimes scared her.

her thoughts were interrupted by Julio Vincente, asking her a question. She frowned at him, a bemused smile on her face. "I'm sorry. Did you say something? I was a world away."

He smiled. "Looks that way." He looked around as if checking to see if he was within earshot of anyone and stepped closer. Kate's instinctive reaction was to stand back. Vincente noticed this and then eased the pressure on her personal space. "I was just asking whether you think this is right, what we're doing."

Kate nodded. "I think its right." She noticed that she did not inject the right amount of conviction into her response, and answered more forcefully. "I think that its a necessary mission. Its important for so many reasons. I mean, the research is all there to support--"

Vincente held up a hand. "Let me ask you this. Would you have agreed to this if they hadn't offered you a butt load of cash?"

Kate mulled this over, noticing that Vincente was watching her face intently. He was certainly someone who could see through bullshit. "If I had any doubts, Doctor Harding's talk has dispersed them."

Vincente nodded and held up his Styrofoam cup in a little salute. "Thats a very good answer. Let me know when you wanna tell me the truth."

Kate was left with the feeling that Vincente was trying to unsettle her, and she couldn't think why he would want to do that. She drove home in silence, the windows rolled down so the breeze could lift her hair. She wanted to tell Nick about the exchange. She glanced down at her cellphone sitting on the passenger seat and thought how easy it would be to open up the old channels once more, be conspirators again. They had once been able to communicate almost without words, even had their own language of shortened words or sentences. When they worked and played together, they were rock solid. Or so she thought.

She drummed her fingers on the driving wheel, mad at herself for even thinking she could just reopen that old wound, She licked the fact that he kept his distance now. Their interaction so far had been purely mission-driven, delving into technical and logistical problems, and nothing more. These exchanges were brief and offered them both a chance to hide behind something. Calling Nick out of the blue with this bit of probably useless information would lead to more complications all round, and she didn't think she could cope with complications right now.

By the time she had reached her apartment, she had decided to keep an eye on Vincente herself. If he was up to something, then she would pass the information on.

She just hoped to God she had misread the man.


End file.
